


our house was built for two

by annintheroom



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Idiocy, Mutual Pining, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annintheroom/pseuds/annintheroom
Summary: “There’s a house far back with a fruit tree in the yard,”A series of non-linear oneshots in the same universe about Keith and Kolivan’s life together as housemateswith the possibility of being more.i. kolivan pines painfully“Kolivan!” yelled a raspy voice outside the house. They followed it by three short knocks and even more yelling. Kolivan got up, and opened the door to see a very familiar face. He winced when he heard the faint screech of the door.Keith was wet from the rain, drops of water on his eyelashes and his dark black hair clinging to his neck. He wore a coat but there was no umbrella to be found. “Get inside or you’ll get a cold,” replied Kolivan, stepping out of the way. His housemate walked into their house, a trail of water following him.“You say that everytime,” teased Keith. A few seconds later, he sneezed, rubbing his nose until it was red. Kolivan raised his eyebrows and he grumbled in reply.





	our house was built for two

The kettle whistled as loud as a steam train‒ cutting through mountains and interrupting Kolivan’s daily dose of self-reflection. Keith, the brat, preferred to call it brooding. There was one time he said, “You stare at your coffee like it gives you the answers to the universe’s questions.”

"Seems like you ask a lot of your drink,” continued Keith, wryly.

Kolivan had gulped his scalding hot coffee, refusing not to reply to his housemate’s astute observation.  He remembered the faint sting that stayed on his tongue for the next few days and refrained from inhaling his drinks instead of answering.

Keith wasn’t snide about Kolivan’s tendency to retreat into the far-flung corners of their house and stay there until dinner or until he remembered some chore he didn’t complete in the morning. During these times, he thought hard about some things he hadn’t had the opportunity to because it’s easy to lose yourself in taking care of chickens and repairing leaky shower heads. It’s supposed to muffle your mind for a little while since your hands are doing most of the work.

But Kolivan needed his mind to breathe, allow it to remember and feel even if it seemed like he was cold and distant. Keith understood as he was a creature of a similar habit.

During these ‘brooding’ periods, Keith would drop by at the bakery downtown and come back home with fresh bread and pastries. He would place it on the ancient dinner table that’s been the backbone of many, many family meals just as Kolivan would come down the stairs. Together they would eat bread with no butter or jam and Kolivan wouldn’t touch the cherry danishes since he knew they were Keith’s favourite.

He once tried to convince himself, as there was no one else to convince, that he disliked cherry danishes and found them too sweet. He accepted that Keith liked them very much, and it was the main reason Kolivan never ate them.

The rain hit the glass, the windows speckled with raindrops and he remembered that Keith wasn’t in the house. He's probably at the lake, skipping pebbles or cycling on the pavement.

Kolivan got up and poured the kettle. His mug had yellow paint stains near the bottom with faint thumb imprints on the handle. It felt warm in his hand and he let himself imagine that the warmth came from someone else’s hands instead.

If he were a more open man, he would admit that his moments of introspection are longer and more frequent because of Keith.

 

* * *

 

“Kolivan!” yelled a raspy voice outside the house. They followed it by three short knocks and even more yelling. Kolivan got up, and opened the door to see a very familiar face. He winced when he heard the faint screech of the door.

Keith was wet from the rain, drops of water on his eyelashes and his dark black hair clinging to his neck. He wore a coat but there was no umbrella to be found. “Get inside or you’ll get a cold,” replied Kolivan, stepping out of the way. His housemate walked into their house, a trail of water following him.

"You say that everytime,” teased Keith. A few seconds later, he sneezed, rubbing his nose until it was red. Kolivan raised his eyebrows and he grumbled in reply.

 “I didn’t know the weatherman could be right,”

At that, Kolivan let out an amused huff. “You already know how it gets during this time of the year,” he said, “But you still seem to get caught in the rain.”

He walked to the bathroom and opened the tap, trickling hot water into the bathtub. As he made his way back to the living room, he saw Keith with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He was standing in front of the television and the weather channel was on.

The weatherman beamed, gesturing at the animated cloud while yammering about next week’s forecast.

“Why do they keep him around?” asked Keith. His brows knit together, half-confused and half-annoyed.

“Entertainment perhaps,” replied Kolivan.

He scoffed. “Lance milking Kaltenecker is more entertaining than him.”

But Kolivan doesn’t answer because he’s too wrapped up in the way he could see the curve of Keith’s neck and a hint of his sharp collarbone, before it disappeared underneath the towel. His mind buzzed and it felt like there was wool in his ears.

 _He must’ve taken his shirt off,_ thought Kolivan.

His breathing slowed and he rubbed his hands on his mouth. This wasn’t new, this scene in front of him wasn’t new. Yet, every time, he acts like it’s the first when it was not. Keith unraveled him, and he enjoyed each torturous moment.

The man sneezed again and Kolivan remembered the tap running in the bathroom.

“I drew you a hot bath,” he gruffed, “You must be freezing,”

 “I don’t mind,” said Keith, cocking his head to the side. A brief flicker flashed through his eyes but it was gone before Kolivan could ponder and analyse it; keeping it away in a place reserved for Keith alone.

 Keith walked to the bathroom, the sounds of damp feet fading slowly.  Kolivan sighed and placed his head in his hands.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was it’s usual affair.

Keith shoveled his spoon into his mouth, tomato sauce dripping on the sides. He hasn’t spoken so far, content with being silent. However, there was something distracted about his behaviour. As if there were some more pressing matters occupying his thoughts than tomato soup.

“Something's on your mind,” stated Kolivan.

Keith stilled, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It’s important,” he replied.

Across from him, Kolivan put his hands on the table. “I’m sure it is.”

He sipped his water and over the rim of his glass he spotted the painting above the dining table.

It was a desert landscape, mostly made of cliffs and dry sand. The sun hit the cliffs in such a way that it felt like the artist was right there when it happened, even though it was far from the truth. When Keith was working on that piece, Kolivan wanted to ask if he missed home. If he ever wanted to leave this old house and run back to his world of cacti and sunlight.

 “Mom wants to visit,” said Keith, bluntly.

 Kolivan raised both of his eyebrows. “She hasn't seen you since last Christmas.”

 Keith put his chin in his palm, eyes squinted with his lips pressed together. It was endearing and Kolivan squashed that sudden feeling of fondness down in his chest .

 “Yeah, but Dad wanted to meet you and…” Keith trailed off, waving his free hand around.

 “I’m sure we have enough room,” said Kolivan. Keith frowned, strange, because it wasn’t born from anger or displeasure but instead resistance. What from, Kolivan doesn’t know and he wants to find out. If only, to adjust accordingly to their circumstances. “They can stay at the guest bedroom.”

 “Romelle’s coming too,” said Keith. He removed the hand on his chin, rubbing his thumb against a small, thin, index finger. “I just wanted to know if you’re okay with visitors,”

 Kolivan laughed, rare as diamonds. The sound was rough, course even, but it felt happy.

“We’ve had Pidge and Regris vomit in our toilets.”

 Keith frown grew deeper, his cheeks flushed as he looked away. “It’s your house too,” he whispered. A hushed admission and it rang of painful sincerity. Kolivan wanted so desperately to tell him, to show him that it was only partially true.

 Legally, this was Kolivan’s house. If you asked, he can show you the documents in his name and you can see the slanted signature at the bottom of the paper. But he doesn’t let just about anyone stay in the house, he doesn’t let just about anyone put their paintings on the walls and he doesn’t let just about anyone make this house their home.

  _Our house_ , thought Kolivan, _was built for two_

 “Your family is welcome to visit anytime, Keith,” said Kolivan.

 “You don’t have to do this,” pleaded Keith, pushing his chair back and standing up.

 “I want to,” answered Kolivan. “It’s been a long time since I saw Krolia, and it’s been a long time since you saw her too.”

 Keith’s eyelashes lay against his cheeks, as he took a deep breath in. He grabbed the bowls and the cutlery, walking to the kitchen without sparing Kolivan a single look.

* * *

 

It was cold outside, the wind tousling the hair that fell out of Kolivan’s braid. He inhaled the air and listened to the sounds of chickens clucking around in their backyard. The grass was tall enough to nudge his ankle, the plum tree beginning the bear fruit again.

For a moment, he felt peace. The kind of peace that eludes a man because they are so aware of everything that goes around in this world. A fruit tree bears its fruits, then it’s plucked by the human, the sweet flesh making it’s home in their mouth. The cycle repeats again and again. The fruit tree will continue bearing its fruit even if the human who plucked it was long gone.

Soft footsteps made their way towards him and it was Keith with his hair pulled back and wearing a smock tied around his waist. There was a bit of purple paint on his left hand that cracked when he curled his fingers into his palm. Kolivan nodded and the two of them sit on the front porch in utter silence.

Keith cleared his throat. “I called Mom, they’ll be coming next month.”

Kolivan saw Krolia in his mind’s eye, a brief flash of a searing, analytic gaze. He remembered the letter written by her and how Keith shoved it in his palms the first time they met.

 _It was a favour ,_ he had tried to convince himself, _just a favour_

At this point he doesn't really know what he's referring to.

 “That’s more than enough time to fix up the house,” said Kolivan.

 “Your house is more than fine,” defended Keith. But he drummed his fingers on his knees, mimicking the sound of rain falling down. “We should fix that door though.”

 And then, Kolivan felt a sudden rush of fondness which wove it's way into his heart, it's gentle grip tightening just so.

 “We could get a vase,” he continued, “Several vases,”

 Keith’s eyes closed as he imagined what it'll be like.”Fill it up with flowers huh?”

 They smiled at each in that timid, subtle way people who aren't used to big, teeth-showing grins that split your cheeks.

 “Yes, exactly,” said Kolivan. He’s still smiling.

 He wondered what Krolia would say when she finds out because she will find out eventually. Kolivan has sheltered Keith from the storm and he’d do it again. Sometimes hope breached its way into him, the thought that maybe his feelings are returned. But doubt always outweighs whatever hope he does have.

 “Dad would love your study,” Keith said, his smile still just as small but the brightness of it rivals a thousand suns.

  _You love my study too_ is what Kolivan wanted to say but the words scrape against his throat.

 There were times that he catched him there, bundled up in an armchair reading Catullus and the book was large enough to cover his embarrassed face. They were precious moments, ones that he would never dare to walk in on and instead kept away greedily; hoarding it like he does when it comes to Keith.

 “They’ll like our home,” said Kolivan. He tensed up, and stared hard at the ground, desperate to avoid Keith’s face. Desperate to avoid rejection, desperate to avoid the eyes boring onto him and picking apart the hidden emphasis on his words.

 Keith shifted, his clothes rustling. “I like our home too.”

The quiet admission took Kolivan by surprise and he had the terrifying urge to hold his hand.

 Sunsets were a beautiful thing in this part of town, the sky a shade between pink and orange. The clouds were sparse, meaning a good chance of proper stargazing at night. Kolivan looked to his side and saw Keith’s eyes heavy with sleep.

 “It’s time to head back in,” he said, softly.

 “Just‒ just five more minutes,” grumbled Keith.

 And Kolivan just couldn’t refuse.

 

**Author's Note:**

> me: [throws in the koleith tag] 
> 
> thank you so much for reading and stay tuned for more ridiculousness!
> 
> cry with me over vld S7 at [tumblr](http://ann-spoon.tumblr.com/)


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